


the pulse is what i know

by attheborder



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Light D/s, M/M, Mature Competent Professional Gays, Office Sex, PWP, Quickie, Weird Eldritch Power Dynamics, bastard boys - Freeform, is it not enough to just describe two old men fucking against a filing cabinet, why must a fic be in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 00:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/pseuds/attheborder
Summary: And Elias looks up, and there’s that cold emptiness inside of Peter, railing against the desire that rises in him, but the fight is as futile as it’s ever been. Yes, he’s compromised; but then again, so is Elias, so in that way they can go on pretending that neither of them are. Efficiency in action.





	the pulse is what i know

_ streetlights and cameras, we're separate and alone  
_ _ orphaned and alien down here where stars shine wrong _

[ _ jesca hoop - free of the feeling _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-ezZKt7_es)

The pretense is necessary.

In another world, where Peter’s last name isn’t Lukas and Elias is exactly as old as he looks, no more and no less, they wouldn’t need the excuses. They wouldn’t need the framing device, they wouldn’t need _ this— _Peter knocking, Elias calling, “Come in,” and Peter sitting on his seat-edge as they go over numbers, calendars, projections, approvals and resolutions. 

(Of course, with anyone else he’d simply appear inside the room, stepping out from that other place— but he doesn’t do that with Elias. Never has. It’s different.)

“You look uncomfortable, Peter,” says Elias. His hand, elegant-fingered, holds his expensive space-black pen like a temptation. “Was getting here hard? I’m sorry, I should have set this meeting earlier in the day. Rush hour’s not really your time, is it?”

It’s a funny joke, but not the kind you laugh at. “Oh, it’s fine,” says Peter, with a shrug. He pulls his duffel coat tighter around him, as if any amount of protection would hold off the inevitable. Because there’s plenty to be done, honestly, there really is. The Ceaseless Watcher hungers for knowledge, and the Lonely has debts to pay, and the Magnus Institute doesn’t just run itself. That damned pen scratches away at forms, files, while Elias talks and talks. Peter is grateful, he hates the sound of his own voice, he really does, but finally, he has no more patience left. “Elias,” he says, interrupting. “I think that’s enough work for today, don’t you?”

And Elias looks up, and there’s that cold emptiness inside of Peter, railing against the desire that rises in him, but the fight is as futile as it’s ever been. Yes, he’s compromised; but then again, so is Elias, so in that way they can go on pretending that neither of them are. Efficiency in action. 

Elias stands from his chair, and walks around the desk to come stand behind Peter. He runs a hand down the side of Peter’s face and Peter leans into it, seeking out that warmth, wanting to be filled by it, if only for an awful, beautiful moment. 

And then the hand is replaced by Elias’ mouth as he bends over, nipping at Peter’s neck, nosing into the gray scruff at his jaw, biting up his cheek, teasing at the corner of his lips.

“So _ dry, _ ” says Elias, his tongue exploring the rough skin below Peter’s eyes. “You need to take better care of yourself on that boat.” Peter bites back a vicious remark about Elias’ multi-step skincare routine, in the interest of expediency. They can trade jabs back and forth once and _ only _once Elias has satisfied the ache inside of Peter.

Peter stands up now, his black boots knocking the fancy chair back onto the floor of the office, but he pays it no mind; Elias takes the cue and backs him into the desk, with Peter’s hands around his slim waist as he stands astride him.

As always, the static in his stomach recoils viciously at how much he wants Elias closer, _ closer. _ It’s not like that with anyone else. It could never be. But there’s a reason he came straight here less than a day after returning to port, and it’s this: Elias’ clever mouth on him, kissing him, seeking out the depths of him, so curious, as always. 

(Ah, it’s only too bad there are things Elias can never, ever know.)

But for now, Peter slips a hand down the back of Elias’ trousers to grip at the skin there, pressing into soft flesh with his fingers, venturing to dig in with his nails, bring Elias’ hips closer to his own. “So handsy,” Elias murmurs around Peter’s mouth, “you’d think _ I _ was the one about to get fucked hard.” 

Peter can only aim a growl and a bite at Elias to that, and Elias responds by rutting up against him, the hard outline of his cock pressing into Peter, a message loud and clear as, yes, a whistle. 

“Come on,” says Peter. “We don’t have all day.”

In response Elias levers Peter up off the desk and _ moves _ him, with that bone-chilling authority, to the cabinet off to the side, where he lays him out standing. Peter’s back is flush to the metal, with one of Elias’ hands bracketed on the cold surface to the side of his head, and the other gripping his bearded cheek as he kisses him with untended, unguarded ferocity.

The way Elias moves against Peter speaks to a barely contained hunger that makes Peter feel totally in control. He knows he could shut it down, walk away right now and leave Elias helpless and hard and _ alone. _It feels incredibly good to think about; maybe one of these days he’ll actually do it.

Today, though, he goes for Elias’ belt. In seconds he’s got Elias’ cock out and is running a callused fingertip lightly across the head, and the sound Elias makes is a balm to the storm in Peter’s chest, that low moan he’s able to draw out with just a few practiced strokes. Elias’ lean erection twitches at his touch and his own cock jumps in sympathy, underneath his clothes. 

Elias sucks in a breath at Peter’s touch, lets himself lean into it, for just a second, and then moves Peter’s hand, stepping away. Peter’s thick fingers flex in midair, missing the veined smoothness of Elias, but Elias says, “Stay there,” so Peter does. He quickly undoes his own button and zip, slipping his trousers down and working a finger into himself with haste; there’ll be no more sensual readying now, no more build-up. 

Elias has retrieved a bottle from a drawer somewhere, and as he slicks his length with it he is watching Peter's own preparation, with a look like he knows it won’t be enough, and, more to the point, knows Peter doesn’t care, needs him now, fast, _ please. _

There was a time when this would have gone slower; there was a time when they’d have done this on a bed somewhere, at night, perhaps even after a bottle of wine or an expensive dinner, they’d have argued about who’d pay and Peter would win, every time, knowing that Elias’ salary was paid mostly by his good graces anyway— just their little joke. 

But now, here, there’s only Elias pressing into him, the only warning a bare second of his mouth at Peter’s cheek before he’s inside. Elias moves slowly at first, then quickly picks up until he’s thrusting with desperate abandon, burning Peter up from below.

“Peter,” says Elias, in a hushed groan, and in his own name Peter hears everything Elias wants him to be, everything Elias can’t possibly have, and isn’t that something? 

A bite to Elias’ neck draws a hiss out of him as he fucks into Peter, the blissful throb filling him up. “I’ll— _ nnh— _I’ll tear you apart,” Elias says, seemingly for nobody’s benefit but his own, but Peter plays the game, whispering back, “And I you,” and his arms are around Elias, pulling him deeper, faster, the cabinet beginning to rattle and rock behind them with the force of their movements.

They’re just two shadows cast on the wall by unseen lights, pretending they’re real. But that doesn’t make it feel any less incredible when Elias’ fingers find Peter’s nipple under his shirt and twist it, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through Peter all at once, scattering the forever-sound of the crashing waves in his ears into a ringing silence, for only a moment before it comes roaring right back.

“Please,” Peter gasps out eventually, his cock red and aching between them, rubbing up against the young skin at Elias’ stomach, where his shirt’s rucked up. He doesn’t want to say it; he knows Elias will make him. 

“Please _ what? _” 

Peter groans, desperate, but not quite desperate enough yet. So Elias slows, teasingly, somehow resisting the urgent tug of Peter’s hands even though he must be shakingly close by now, in the interest of playing with Peter, toying with him at the expense of his own pleasure.

“Peter,” says Elias, a warning, and then Peter can’t hold back any longer. “Fill me up,” he says, cold breath misting to Elias’ ear, “give it to me, please, _Jonah,” _and it’s the name that does it, Elias loses control, cries out and shudders into renewed motion. Peter gets a hand amidst them and around his cock, pulling himself off as Elias spills deep into him, hot and fast and forbidden. 

Peter is filled, overflowing, and the sensation tips him over into his own finish; Elias’ hand rises to meet the orgasm, wrapping around Peter’s as he pumps to the last, letting his soft, secondhand skin take the spend as it spurts down.

Then: a bare, raw quiet in the office, broken only by the sound of the cabinet behind them creaking as it settles.

“Gone too long, then?” Elias murmurs, after a moment.

“Not long enough,” lies Peter. “Never long enough.”

Elias’ slowing breath, warm against his ear, matches the susurrus of the white waves in his head until they are one and the same. A dangerous illusion. 

“Was that good?” Elias asks, voice low and just a shade tender, in this too-small after. Classic bureaucrat, always so concerned with performance reviews. 

“Mmm,” hums Peter. “It was. If I didn’t know better, I might think you actually cared about me.”

“Don’t,” says Elias, but there’s no force in it. He peels his chin off Peter’s shoulder and gets down to the work of reassembling himself, producing the appropriate supplies, sharing them with Peter as needed. 

And then Elias is fully formed again, contained once more in all those layers, the suit he wears and the body too, but Peter has the satisfaction of knowing he undid him, just for a moment. 

The fog is at the gates; it’s time to pull away. The pretense drifts back in on the prevailing wind. 

“I’ll see you,” says Elias.

“You always do,” says Peter, and is gone. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> wrote [this silly drabble](https://areyougonnabe.tumblr.com/post/188438867342/areyougonnabe-we-will-win-you-know-you) on tumblr & got requested by an anon to expand upon the filing cabinet fucking… Ask And Ye Shall Receive.
> 
> started writing this right after 158 and have never been so grateful listening to an episode as when 159 didn’t joss it entirely hahaha


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